J'ai quitté mon coeur
by define-serenity
Summary: [Sebastian/Blaine] An activist his entire life, Blaine lives for convincing his peers to get involved in the making of their future. After a summer in Paris, however, when Blaine returns home to help rally votes for his father's campaign, he can't help but wonder if maybe his heart lies elsewhere; if it lies, perhaps, with the boy he kissed goodbye at Charles de Gaulle airport...


**author's notes:** written for **Seblaine Week 2017** , Day 4: **politics/running for office au**. title translates as 'I lost my heart.'

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 **J'ai quitté mon coeur**

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Leaving the commotion of the crowded room behind, Blaine soon finds himself out on the sidewalk outside campaign headquarters, a chill in the early November air both bracing and disconcerting, because it asserts how summer's moving farther and farther from his grasp. All the memories still played fresh in his mind's eye, but the heat and comfort of his summer in Paris has been decidedly replaced by the crisp hint of winter.

He shrugs on his leather jacket and wanders around the corner, where none of his fellow volunteers will be able to catch him through the floor-to-ceiling steel frame windows, the sight obscured by posters and streamers, red, blue and white balloons released all over the floor, and the music an equal distraction from the single lonely boy outside.

His heart sinks.

He should be in there with everyone else, celebrating his father's victory — their victory, to some extent, because it's their extensive campaigning that got his dad elected to the U.S. Senate tonight, and if that wasn't cause for celebration he doesn't know what is. Yet here he is, out in the cold, his fingers shaking around his phone so hard he fears his grip might crack the screen; he can't, _he shouldn't_ , reread that text. Not now. Not tonight. Tonight should be all about his dad and the campaign's successful efforts.

And yet. Here he is.

He'd worked so hard to get the campaign's Youth for America platform off the ground, spending every free moment he had in between classes talking to people his age undecided on who to vote for, convincing others to change their votes, or talk yet others into voting at all. If they wanted their voices to matter they needed to be heard, but in order for anyone to hear them they had to speak up first. He got people excited, which in turn got him excited over his future; after studying poli-sci at Columbia University for one year, and an enduring commitment to politics, he knew he'd one day follow in his dad's footsteps.

That was then.

As it turned out, his mom deemed his commitment too strong for someone his age, and promptly commanded he take a break over the summer. She didn't want him to burn out the same way she once had and booked him tickets to Paris, the city of her dreams.

Before long the thought of leaving with the campaign at such a critical stage made him hyperventilate, and the idea of staying once he set foot on French soil damn near brought him to his knees; his life was in New York, with his dad and his campaign, out on the streets rallying votes and getting young people passionate about politics, not the narrow and dreary streets of Paris. He was all alone, in a foreign city, with limited knowledge of the language.

It wasn't that he failed to see his mom's cause for concern, or that he didn't want to see Paris — he just didn't want to miss out on what might be the single most important election in his life.

Blaine laughs.

How things had changed.

"Your dad's looking for you," Sam's voice sounds beside him, bringing him back down to Earth, where Paris is 3000 miles removed, "and I think everyone's waiting for your speech."

He nods solemnly, fingers tightening around his phone. "I know."

Sam's eyes narrowing on his face, his best friend stalks a step closer. "You do know we won tonight, right?" he asks. "Or is this you bemoaning the return of your free time?"

At that, he laughs again, though this time it comes from a far more genuine place. There's no need to hide his melancholy from Sam or anyone else; everyone could see Paris changed him, if not just having provided a much needed breather from his hectic schedule. Paris put everything in perspective; there were things right here he missed out on by engaging solely in one subject. What about going to parties, getting drunk, kissing the wrong boys?

What about kissing the right one, the one he'd found in a quaint café by the Seine, reading his favorite book, which got them talking in the first place.

After his return he'd thrown himself into the work even harder than before, hoping it would take some of the sting of leaving his heart in Paris.

"No, it's—" He releases a shaky breath, adding, "—Sebastian," with a disheartened shrug, uttering the name itself too heavy a burden.

He went to Paris disinclined to enjoy a single moment, and ended up falling in love with a boy he hasn't been able to unthink for weeks — summer would've been the start and end of it, if not for the fact that he recognized this as something new; he'd known love that didn't last, that proved fleeting and ultimately forgetful, and he'd experienced summer romances that didn't surpass the season.

But this.

Sebastian.

It's different.

"He texted me to wish us luck."

One simple text. Four words.

And nothing felt the same. Nothing that mattered before had the same urgency; it no longer seemed important if he couldn't talk to Sebastian about it, or couldn't relax in his arms after a long day on the campaign trail.

Even now, in the ROCK THE VOTE t-shirt he wears with great pride, the fabric won't fit the way he wanted. Or the way it should. And even though Sebastian's wiry frame exceeded his own and his toned arms were far longer, nothing had ever fit quite so snug as Sebastian's bordeaux Notre Dame hoodie that certain rainy Paris day...

They'd enjoyed breakfast in bed and hadn't left each other's side the rest of the murky day. The cobbled streets of Monmartre shone wet and perilous, but he'd tucked close into Sebastian's body nonetheless and swayed into him, and all of a sudden the rain didn't bother him as much. Sebastian had that effect on things. Maybe, if Sebastian were here now, he could chase away the uncomfortable scratch of the white cotton fabric against his skin, the chill in the air, and the glum prospect of spending the next few weeks, maybe even months, trying to forget one of the best things that ever happened to him.

It shouldn't be like this; campaign headquarters has been his playground since he was five years old, when his dad ran the governor's campaign; he'd sat in the corner of the office, designing campaign posters on the back of old ones with rainbow colored crayons. He grew up in places like this, learned about life through a dedication to youth politics that started as early as the age of twelve. Yet, all he's been able to think about since he came home from Paris is that boy he kissed goodbye at Charles de Gaulle airport.

It still hurt, even though he thought he'd accepted summer had ended. He understands now why the French never simply said 'I miss you', rather 'You are missing from me', something a great deal more telling. Something a lot closer to what he felt. Sebastian's missing had taken on the exact shape of him, outlined sharply against all the things he'd feared leaving behind.

But the world he left had kept spinning without him. Ads got drafted and sent out, people managed to go out and rally votes, and while he'd been missed, while he'd been welcomed back with open arms into a found family he held so dear, Sebastian showed him what else he'd still missed out on all these years — not his commitment, not his dream, not even wanting to follow in his dad's footsteps, but rather something else his father had already achieved too.

Someone to share it all with.

"It's okay to miss him, you know," Sam says, tapping into his specific melancholy with a pointed phrase that doesn't quite encompass all he feels.

"Yeah, I know," he sighs, leaning back against the wall and looks down at his hands, still shaking around his phone. It wasn't meant to happen this way; he wasn't meant to meet the boy of his dreams on another continent or leave him behind; Sebastian's missing beats hollow inside him, and the heartburn's soured anything else that ever mattered to him.

He laughs again, all too aware he's being a drama queen.

The world hasn't stopped spinning, and it hasn't stifled any of his drive; he's still committed to his dad's campaign and all he stands for, and he can't wait to start working on the real changes he can help implement, however slow politics might move.

But he can't deny this summer's changed him.

"It's just—" He sighs, scrambling for the word he hadn't found before today.

"What?" Sam insists.

"He's completely lost without me."

His heart leaps about 3000 miles at the sound of the voice, taking him right back to that first day in the café, so relieved to find someone his age who spoke English, who knew Paris, and who had the most stunning smile he'd ever beheld.

Turning around, he lays eyes on the boy he's longed for all this time, the boy who lived in his dreams and fantasies — he's here. Sebastian's here rather than 3000 miles away living cozy in that two-story _pied-à-terre_ that contained all their memories together; that stunning smile hid in white sheets and the pillows, caught in the sun the few times it decided to show itself. Pasted onto his skin, over his ribs and into his heart.

"Sebastian," he breathes, and he's running with all those memories in tow before the name's well and good escaped his lips, and he falls into Sebastian's body. Arms folding around Sebastian's neck, the taller lifts him a few inches off the ground and he could swear for those few moments he's flying. If it were up to him he'd never come down. There's something solid and reassuring about Sebastian's body, especially once it meets his, like it's a stem and a root, a home for him to return to.

Pulling back he shakes his head, overwhelmed by the missing puzzle piece that falls back into place effortlessly. "What are you doing here?" he asks, hands slipping along Sebastian's waistline, unable to let go — all he can think about is touching touching touching, making sure that Sebastian isn't some figment of his imagination.

Sebastian grins, weakening his knees. "Couldn't let those frequent flyer miles go to waste now, could I?"

Another laugh escapes him, all a little too much to bear; Sebastian's _right here_ , teetering on the edge of his world and his thoughts are being pulled in a million different directions. He can show Sebastian his world the way Sebastian guided him through his this summer; he can introduce him to his friends and family, or he can steal him away to his bed and never let him go again.

His silence lingering, Sebastian rolls his eyes. "I'm here because I'm completely lost without you too."

Two hands cup his face gently, and if he didn't know any better he'd say Sebastian were trembling.

"This summer-" Sebastian's voice softens and drowns out, weighted by the overwhelming force of their reunion. How had he ever managed to leave this boy at the airport? How had he pulled himself away long enough to convince himself that he should go home? His responsibilities sure as hell didn't beckon loud enough, nor had school, not when every cell in his body ached to be with Sebastian. Their kiss goodbye still lingered on his lips, like a wanton promise, a plea, a longing begging for him to stay.

"It's okay," he whispers, and grabs around Sebastian's wrists. "I'm confused too."

For the longest time he thought he knew what he wanted, but as his eyes meet Sebastian's, he realizes his world had been too small to account for anyone like Sebastian. There was so much more to this world, to life, to settle for only a part of a dream; he's too young to stop exploring everything that's out there.

"Sorry to mess up your five-year plan."

He laughs. "You should be."

It isn't much of a plan anymore, more like an option; he doesn't have to stay in politics, or he doesn't have to fight for what he believes in here, at home - there's a world out there full of problems, full of people waiting to find a voice and his might not be best applied here. It's all wide open and that's exciting and scary at the same time, exactly like his feelings for Sebastian.

Hand drawing down, his fingers catch at the small recognizable sticker stuck to Sebastian's jacket.

"You voted?"

Sebastian nods, and brings their foreheads together, whispering, "I picked a winner."

He giggles, overcome with too many sensations to count, so he does what he's been itching to do instead; he rises on his toes and pushes his lips to Sebastian's, their kiss no ending this time, but a beginning, a fresh start, a promise for the future yet to come.

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 **fin**

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End file.
